


A Stitch in Time

by thephilosophersapprentice



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Mending, darning, hohenheim lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: A few months after the Promised Day, Edward notices that his father's shirt needs mending. Quasi-sequel to "Patching" by Evil_Little_Dog.
Relationships: Edward Elric & Van Hohenheim, Trisha Elric/Van Hohenheim
Comments: 16
Kudos: 106





	A Stitch in Time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Patching](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512061) by [Evil_Little_Dog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog). 



Months after the promised day, it was, to Hohenheim’s shock, Edward of all people who noticed it first.

He’d looked up from his book to find Edward’s face almost uncomfortably close, like the reflection of his younger self from what he could remember caught in fountains and mop buckets. Hohenheim made a concerted effort not to jerk backwards in surprise.

“Your sleeves are looking pretty worn.”

“What?” Hohenheim managed, shocked. He looked at the elbows of his sleeves. Trisha’s neatly-darned patches were wearing thin. The fine threads had snapped in a few places.

“Oh… maybe it’s time to buy a new one,” Hohenheim said. He wasn’t sure he’d managed to keep the sadness from his voice.

Edward made a brusque gesture with his recently-restored right hand. “Give it to me,” he said, so typical of his eldest; speaking in orders and demands as if he had never heard the word ‘please’ in his life.

Still, if Edward had demanded the world, Hohenheim wished he could hand it to his son. “Give me a moment,” he said, heading upstairs to change.

A few minutes later he returned, handing the worn garment to Edward, who had found a sewing kit somewhere and was, somewhat clumsily, threading a needle. Hohenheim watched in silence as Edward darned the sleeves, a slight furrow between Xerxes-gold eyebrows.

Trisha wasn’t gone, not really. Edward had her mouth, her smile—Hohenheim had seen it, fleeting and uncertain but present, a few times since the Promised Day; most often directed at Alphonse, but he had once surprised it directed to himself; Edward had looked away, embarrassed—the same slightly-crooked stub nose. Trisha was present in Edward’s confident posture, the gentle hands that did not remotely match the abrasive words, sometimes even in those same words.

Trisha might have passed, but Hohenheim still had their children. And that was a marvel greater than anything in the world.

Edward handed the shirt back, sucking on a pricked finger. His stitches were uneven, not quite as neat as Trisha’s but just as precious. “Wouldn’t want you getting cold, old man.”

Forget the past. It’s time to live in the present.

And Hohenheim is so marvelously, wonderfully, mysteriously blessed.

**Author's Note:**

> Because Ed takes after Trisha too.


End file.
